“You have thirty seconds to clear out of this pack.”
One of Zane’s enforcers shoved me hard from behind, forcing my legs into motion. I stumbled down the narrow trail, moving away from the beating heart of the Sapphire Pack’s territory. Cast out like refuse, I was treated as something utterly loathsome in their eyes. Nearly the entire pack had turned out to witness my exile. Most of them jeered and hurled insults, while a few stood in heavy silence, a flicker of pity in their gazes. Yet, not a single soul dared to intervene; Zane would have executed anyone reckless enough to show me open mercy.
I glanced back once at the massive iron gate marking the outer boundary of the Sapphire Pack, knowing this would be my final look. Just last night, I had called this place home, and now I was being driven out, officially branded an outcast. By the time I crossed over into the neutral zone, a lawless tract claimed by no pack, the jeering escort had dissipated, turning back to their normal lives as if my existence had already been erased.
I had no destination in mind; I simply kept walking. Stray tears occasionally slipped down my cheeks, but I lacked the emotional energy left to properly mourn my fate. The only thing I had to hold onto was the bitter, fragile comfort of drawing breath.
When I eventually stumbled out into a bustling thoroughfare, I realized I had reached a traditional trading square. Commerce here still clung to old-school customs, with cash changing hands directly. Wealthy merchants flaunted overflowing stalls and commanded dozens, sometimes hundreds, of laborers. Yet, right alongside them, desperate vagrants not unlike myself scavenged through refuse heaps for scraps of discarded food.
Even so, I swore I would never stoop to begging. That was one line I refused to cross.
An old, creaking wooden cart rumbled past me, loaded high with enormous baskets brimming with fresh apples. I didn’t hesitate. In a split second, I darted toward one of the handlers.
“Can I help unload? I don’t want money, just an apple,” I pleaded, locking eyes with the man in charge. He gave me a brief, pragmatic nod. Just like that, my day was salvaged by a single apple, earned through heavy labor hauling crates across the marketplace.
I was right in the middle of taking a bite when my gaze locked onto a familiar silhouette in the crowd. The face was so achingly recognizable, so devastatingly striking, that the air left my lungs entirely. The apple froze halfway to my teeth.
“Fheraen?!” His name slipped past my lips in a shaky, breathless whisper.
Six months had passed since I had last laid eyes on him, and now, as if summoned by cruel fate, he was standing right here. Yet he strode forward with a swift, purposeful gait, his eyes fixed straight ahead without sparing me a single glance. Of course he wouldn’t recognize me. I wasn’t hiding behind my old disguises anymore.
I shoved frantically through the dense crowd in a desperate pursuit, but within seconds, he had melted into the throng and vanished. Frustration crushed my chest, and I muttered a bitter curse under my breath.
“Taken a liking to that guy?”
The abrupt voice made me jump. A scrawny kid, slightly shorter than me, stood nearby, his sharp eyes glinting with mischief. I gave a hesitant nod, realizing he must have caught my intense reaction when Fheraen walked by.
“The son of the Ruby Line Pack’s Alpha drops by here pretty often,” the boy remarked casually. “If you’re lucky, you might spot him again tomorrow.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, surprise and a sudden spark of hope colliding in my chest. “What’s your name?”
“Nichole,” the kid replied shortly.
“Nicholas?” I guessed, assuming his name was just shortened.
“Not Nicholas. Nichole. People have called me that since I was in diapers,” he corrected with a stubborn flick of his chin.
“Alright, Nichole.” I managed a thin smile before dragging the conversation back to what mattered.
“You actually know the Alpha’s son from the Ruby Line Pack?”
“Not personally, no. I just know who he is, and honestly, so does everyone around here. He’s hard to miss,” Nichole explained, shrugging.
“Then tell me,” I whispered urgently, “if he comes here again tomorrow.”
“Just one bite of that apple,” Nichole said, pointing straight at my right hand.
Without hesitation, I handed over the hard-earned remainder of my fruit to the boy. Nichole darted off, already sinking his teeth into it. I let out a slow, relieved breath, my hopes suddenly soaring at the thought of finding Fheraen tomorrow. Cast out from the pack I was once destined to lead, I had learned to survive by clinging to the smallest crumbs of hope.
That night, I slept on a cold patch of pavement after being chased away from a storefront—a miserable step down from the austere Alpha academy dorms, which were already lightyears worse than my old bedroom back at the mansion. Even so, I drifted off easily, sustained by a single purpose: I was going to find Fheraen tomorrow.
At dawn, I stuck close to Nichole. He knew the layout and the rhythms of the marketplace far better than I did, especially when and where Fheraen usually arrived. Sure enough, a sleek luxury vehicle pulled up, and Fheraen stepped out entirely unescorted. He was standing only a few feet away.
“Fheraen!” I called out. For a brief second, he flicked his gaze left and right, but naturally, he didn't recognize me. To him, I had only ever existed behind the mask of *Ryker*. Still, a foolish part of me hoped my voice might ring a bell. He didn't break stride, though, clearly unwilling to stop for a stranger calling his name, and kept walking with sharp, purposeful steps.
“Go after him! Why are you just standing there frozen?!” Nichole hissed, his voice sharp with frustration.
I sprinted straight through the dense market crowds, shoving past vendors and shoppers in the middle of bartering. More than a few cursed at me for jostling their displays, but my eyes remained locked on the tall, striking figure ahead. I had to reach him.
“Wait!” I shouted, lunging forward until the tips of my fingers finally brushed his right shoulder. He spun around, catching me as I doubled over, gasping for air.
“Who the hell are you?” Fheraen frowned, his eyes narrowing as they cut into me. There was something different about him now, a sharper, colder edge than I remembered.
“I... you know me as Ryker,” I stammered out, forced to use the only card I had.
He furrowed his brow, utter confusion washing over his face. “Ryker? Are you out of your mind?” Fheraen let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “He died a year ago,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in irritation.
The words hit me like physical impact, but a strange warmth bloomed in my chest nonetheless—so Fheraen already knew. A fragile happiness stirred inside me; surely, if he knew that much, he also knew who the person behind the Ryker mask really was at the academy.
“I’m glad you know the truth, Fheraen,” I murmured softly.
He drew in a heavy, exasperated breath, his shoulders tightening under the weight of my words. “I’m not Fheraen,” he stated flatly.
My eyes widened in horror. “I had made a mistake.”
The boy standing right in front of me wasn't Fheraen at all—he was his identical twin.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, blood rushing to my ears.
“Relax. Our faces are carbon copies,” he sighed, trying to ease the tension. “Just stop tracking me down and chasing me through the streets. If it’s Fheraen you’re actually looking for, I’ll let this slide this one time,” he added, his voice dropping to a low warning.
I nodded mutely, standing there like an absolute idiot as the boy, who was, in reality, Dherael, turned and continued on his way. Nichole had mentioned that the Ruby Line Pack’s Alpha’s son frequented this market, so I had simply assumed he enjoyed the commotion. I already knew Dherael was the designated heir to his father’s title, yet it was striking how unassuming his clothes were, even if his posture and frigid tone were far harsher than Fheraen’s ever were.
“Why on earth did you just let him walk away after whining at me to find him?!” Nichole stormed up to me, having apparently watched the whole disaster unfold from the sidelines.
“I had the wrong person,” I muttered, staring at the ground.
“The wrong person?” Nichole scowled, his face twisted in utter annoyance.
“Yes. The guy I’m actually looking for is his twin,” I groaned, running both hands aggressively through my hair.
“Well, you could have just asked him to take you to his twin, you idiot!” Nichole snapped, throwing his hands up.
I froze. Nichole was entirely right, and I felt like a fool. I should have swallowed my pride and begged Dherael to bring me straight to the Ruby Line Pack.
Instead, I had stood there like a deer in headlights, staring at a face that wasn't even the one I loved. Dherael possessed a completely different aura anyway—far sharper, heavier, and undeniably more dangerous than Fheraen's.
